Wounded
by Shadowflame611
Summary: During battle, Ratchet takes a hit for Optimus. There are more than just physical wounds tend to. Working title. Oneshot. DOTM/Movieverse, slight AU. Established character death. RatchetxIronhide


First Transformer fic! Yey! (Sorry if I've misspelled anything TF-related. Please correct if caught).

Soo, I have a Tumblr. Wrote this for an author, who goes by Ralith on the site. She had some back-to-school blues… and so, I decided to make it better with angst. X.x

A while back, I sent her a prompt revolving around Optimus getting hurt protecting Ratch on the battlefield. Here we have the opposite. The part that upsets me the most about this is that I feel like it's extremely OOC at points. She seemed to like it alright, though.

Fluff, slight/possible AU, nothing hard [aka no sexy-fun time- maybe I'll try that in the future after practice.] Just angst. Cause I looove angst.

**Transformers and related characters do not belong to me.**

* * *

His superficial armor plates slid apart with the faint sound of grating metal. Placing the distal aspect of his upper limb on the wide metal worktable, Ratchet began to reset the delicate array of nero wires and lines that his self-repair modules hadn't been able to repair.

Growling indiscriminately as he worked, he just barely registered Mirage's presence in his periphery. The mech in gleaming red didn't stay for long; it seemed as though he only had to cycle one vent of the tense atmosphere to decide he'd be better off waiting for… whatever it was he wanted.

Maybe, if he _really_ wanted to be left alone, he would have said something. Something that would have stopped the spy from inevitably bringing his exceptionally foul mood to someone's attention. Something which at the very least would have stopped the distinctive sound of footsteps approaching from behind.

"Ratchet." The way that voice module rolled over his name, no-nonsense with just a touch of concern, spoke volumes. It was enough to make him pause in his work.

While not a fighter in a traditional sense, Ratchet had spent countless Earth hours either actively debating in a council or planning his next argument. He could lash out on a whim vocally. A major weakness of this "talent" was the fact that he rarely took the time to process his words before he spoke.

Perhaps Optimus was lucky that an inner conflict was keeping words at bay. While an everyday tantrum couldn't possibly ruin a friendship spanning millennia…well. Perhaps he didn't need to say anything. The Prime was probably gleaning mountains of information from the subtle trembling in his medic's fingertips.

Optimus was a patient mech. That fact aside, there was something digging beneath the surface of this situation which begged to be brought to light.

"How badly were you hit?"

"The damage is significant. I have temporarily lost motor function in his limb, but that is only due to the fact that my sensor relays and nerve wirings are at least six and a half times more sensitive than a normal mech's." Ratchet's voice mod was monotone, the glyphs transmitted along their frequency tight and sterile.

To count his blessings, Optimus had at least received an answer for that. "Perhaps we should be grateful that medics are built with the extra armor." Only a slight hesitation before the Prime continued, "Certainly a good thing. Medics have become a rarity of their own."

The quiet between them was punctured with the small clicking sounds of sensitive tools working on the injured limb. With a sudden burst of Cybertronian cusses, Ratchet wreathed against the table, doubling over as though to get a closer look at the point of damage. The entire unit squealed a protest against the sudden shift in weight before settling to the creaking groans of a surface promising to give way under any more added pressure.

With some difficulty, Optimus managed to refrain from stepping forward. "Ratchet-"

The gruff medic cut him off , voice mod just slightly louder than needed. "Perhaps it has escaped your notice that I am otherwise occupied at the moment." There was finally some complexion to the old medic's tone now. It was calm and it was dangerous, temper bubbling beneath a thin transparent surface.

Optimus drew himself up, armor rippling fluidly with a hiss of hydraulics. "Similarly, I believe you have forgotten-"

"Hardly," Ratchet snapped, turning as the tools retracted in to his one functioning servo with a defining _snap_. "Though I must say I fail to see the point in post-battle pleasantries when it is very clear that we both have work to do. Yes, I realize what happened; it is my arm that is 76% severed, but that damage has done nothing to my logic circuits!"

"You went out of your way to take that hit for me."

"Of course I did," he scoffed, "I would do it again. Any one of your mechs would, and you would be foolish to believe otherwise."

"However-"

"This certainly isn't the first time another mech has taken a hit for you. Have you paid a personal visit to _every _living being who has?"

"I'd like to-"

"_Furthermore_, I'd like to add that your rather skewed perception of self-worth is really-"

"_Ratchet."_

Venomous and persistent as Ratchet could be, it would never be said that he couldn't follow orders when prompted. Facial plates set rigidly, Ratchet lowered his optics down to Optimus's chassis with a grim expression. There was a beat of silence between the two, the atmosphere clear of any glyphs, and it was no secret that the Prime was taking a moment to collect himself.

"I did not come here to argue the importance of a Prime over a medic, or vice versa. As lively as that conversation would surely be…" Optimus rolled his shoulders, yet another human gesture he'd adapted, "My reason for interrupting you is far more personal and, honestly, selfish."

"Rarely would I describe you as selfish, if ever."

"As you have pointed out, I do not always 'pay personal visits to every being who has taken a hit for me.'" He watched his friend shutter his optics before continuing, "Selfishness, while not becoming of a Prime, is part of the cycle of survival, but again, that is not what I am not here to discuss."

"Out with it, then." Waving a servo through the air, he turned away and began sifting through a crate of supplies. "There's never been a time I could stop you if you wanted something badly enough."

Again, another moment of hesitation from the Prime. Optics flicking back up to his face, Ratchet narrowed them in speculation. "You wouldn't attempt to make an order to keep me off the battlefield…"

"Of course not," Optimus vented. Then, "Ratchet…"

Heaving air through his vents in a sigh, the medic turned to face his leader. Red and blue armor was loosened, in this case a sign of exhaustion. The Prime's optics were also dimmed considerably. Troubling.

"I'm finding the recent amount of losses to be very… trying."

Ratchet paused to actually consider his response. His initial reaction was to point out that they'd suffered many losses throughout the war, but that type of blistering acidity toward fallen comrades would be considered an insult of honor, even by his standards.

He didn't have to say anything; Optimus filled in the silence. "I do not mean that to belittle the lives of others… and yet, by admitting it out loud, I am doing so."

"Megatron was your brother. Sentinel was your mentor. You've suffered losses on many different planes, with his betrayal."

Optimus moved closer. Gently, a large servo took Ratchet's injured limb and moved it up between them. A few beats passed as he examined it with an unprofessional eye.

"I am tired of others taking hits for me."

"You are my friend."

Optimus's engine rumbled in agreement, his glyphs sending platonic waves of warmth through their bond. "As was Ironhide."

Ah. Leave it to Optimus to slowly ease his way in to a conversation. With the realization came brittle anger, and bristling anew Ratchet snatched his arm back. The sudden movement caused pain from the injury to jolt all the way up to his chassis, and he dulled it subconsciously.

"You're attuning this to Ironhide's death?" With a blurt of wordless static, he jerked even further back.

There were different kinds of anger when it came to Ratchet. To divide them in to two simplified categories, there were those borne out of annoyance for generalized stupidity, and those which caused true hurt to his spark.

Immediately realizing he'd accessed the latter, Optimus straightened and attempted to reiterate. "I wouldn't dare think that lowly of you." Ratchet remained frozen, staring. "I simply… fear that recent losses have caused you to care less for your own well-being."

Switching abruptly to shrill Cybertronian, "Then you _would_ think that lowly of me. I understand my duties. Not to mention that Ironhide would sever my helm from the rest of me if he found I was nursing that type of _fantasy_."

"This is not the path I wanted this conversation to take." For a moment the glyphs raced between them, _sorry/please/submissive/apologize/worry_, before Optimus said "_Please_, Ratchet. I apologize."

"I am far older than the sparklings you are used to dealing with after such a loss," he spat. There was an ache building near his spark chamber, and he was quick to dull that, too.

"That does nothing to change the gravity of the situation. Ratchet," Optimus sounded worn, "You are both friends of mine. Old and dear to me. Had the situation been reversed, would you want me to approach Ironhide on the subject? To at least offer some support?"

"You do not want to lose another friend." The realization flattened Ratchet's tone, and relaxed his armor a few centimeters.

"I do not wish to see another suffer the loss of his sparkmate alone."

The trembling had started again in his servos some time ago, but Ratchet had been able to ignore it until this moment, when he had forced his gaze from the Prime. Quiet stretched between them for a few moments, during which Optimus was wise enough to maintain his distance.

The quaking wouldn't cease, and Ratchet was having difficulty simply stashing the pain away as he normally did. "I took a hit for you because you are an old, dear friend to me, Optimus. If and when the situation reverses, should I expect any different from _you_?"

"…No."

"As for Ironhide," Still focused on his servo, Ratchet clenched his digits, forming two fists. "Perhaps you are correct, to an extent. There is nothing I wouldn't give to have had the opportunity to take that hit as well."

This time, Optimus did approach. His second step forward, Ratchet suddenly stepped back. Once again settling his optics somewhere on Optimus's chasis, he hissed, "Get out of my medbay."

"Ratchet-"

"_Out!" _When his friend made no move to leave, his tone dissolved to pleading. "Please…"

For a fraction of a second, Ratchet feared Optimus would refuse. The thought stirred cold and uncomfortable within him, and yet was only slightly relieved when the Prime turned and, without another word, walked calmly out of the room.

The obnoxious desire to call him back barely distracted the medic before the quaking in his limbs travelled throughout, and he sank to the floor, cutting his vocalizer before the sounds of his grief could escape.


End file.
